The Collarbone's Spell
by addisonthegreat
Summary: Hermione will do anything to achieve perfection-including destroying herself. Possible Trigger Warning: contains themes of Eating Disorder & Self-Harm. Post DH. Somewhat OOC.
1. Pleasantly Plump

The Collarbone's Spell

"_If you look for perfection, you'll never be content."_

― _Leo Tolstoy, Anna Karenina_.

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CHAPTER ONE

Pleasantly Plump

_-Hermione-_

HERMIONE NEVER CONSIDERED herself to be a superficial person.

_su•per•fi•cial adjective \ˌsü-pər-ˈfi-shəl\ : to be overly concerned with one's outward appearance_

No, Hermione's thoughts were otherwise occupied by just that- thoughts. She secretly prided herself on possessing a great intellect, spending her time focusing on exercises of the mind and not of the body. Or she had, at least, until one evening in the Gryffindor common room.

"I'd definitely shag her, yeah."

Hermione's eyes flashed upwards from her worn copy of A History of Magic, glowering at the two second-year boys, who were none-too-discretely eyeing Lavender Brown laying across the sofa, her slender and shapely frame on display for the entire common room.

"Whaddaya think? She's at least an 8, yeah?" The second-year prodded his friend with his wand. The other boy wrinkled his nose up and shook his head, crudely.

"Nah, I'd give her a 7.5, tops."

"Oh, but look at that pair, mate, blimey-"

Hermione had heard enough. She abruptly stood up from her chair and marched over to them.

"Excuse me, but do you mind continuing your misogynistic and crude appraisal of women's bodies elsewhere? I'm not sure if you're aware of this, but this is a school, not the state fair, and some of us are actually trying to study." Her voice had risen to an embarrassingly shrill pitch, and the common room had gone deadly silent.

"…and don't poke each other with your wands, for Merlin's sake." She finished, somewhat lamely, before turning and heading up to the girls' dormitory.

"But we are studying…" She heard one of them protest.

"Yeah…human anatomy, that is." The other one finished, before they both burst into snickers behind her.

"Boys, boys, please." Hermione froze on the stairs when she Lavender's soft voice cooing from the sofa. "You have to remain sensitive to other girls who may not have the same, well, assets, as some of us.

The boys sniggered again at the mention of "assets". "Yeah, I reckon she's just a bit peeved, 'cause, she's you know…"

"Plump." Lavender finished firmly. "Hermione is pleasantly plump."

Hermione fled to the bathroom, a growing lump forming in her throat. When the door clicked shut behind her, she sank against it, attempting to push the incident out of her mind.

Pleasantly plump…what, in Merlin's name, could Lavender mean by such a statement? Of course, she was certainly aware that she didn't possess the miniscule waste, ample breasts and hourglass figure of girls like Lavender…but that didn't mean…she couldn't be…no. A quick peek in the mirror ought to assure of her healthy, but by no means "plump" body.

Hermione swallowed the lump, sniffled once, and face the mirror. Her eyes were immediately drawn to her jumper, the fabric of which was wrinkled up slightly at her stomach. She instinctively started to straighten it, and gasped. The fabric was bunched up because of her stomach.

Panic beginning to set in, Hermione quickly and rapidly stripped herself of all her clothing, carelessly tossing it aside until she was stark naked. Then, she whirled around to face the mirror once more, examining and scrutinizing herself.

Flaws leapt out at her, each one a stinging slap to her ego. Protruding stomach like that of a pregnant woman. Thighs like thick, fat logs. Sagging, drooping breasts like cow udders. Arms with flabby, wing-like undersides. Skin, pockmarked with scars and spots. Jiggling, lose flesh everywhere…all pointing to one horrendous, shocking, repulsive realization….

A million and one thoughts were roiling in her head. How has this happened? When had it happened? And how had she _let_ this happen? One thought, in particular, however, took up most of the space in Hermione's mind. She wasn't plump. No. She, Hermione Granger, was **Fat**, with a capital "F". And at that moment, despite her great intellect and generally practical mind, she could think of nothing worse.

_Su•per•fi•cial adjective \ˌsü-pər-ˈfi-shəl\ : to be overly concerned with one's outward appearance_

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**A/N: Whoo! That concludes chapter one. Just a note: This definition of "superficial" was made up by me to fit the needs of the story. Please keep in mind that a distorted frame of mind has already clouded Hermione's judgment. Reviews would be lovely, and constructive criticism is much appreciated! Thank you! =)**

_Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. All characters belong to J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros., Bloomsbury, and Scholastic, respectively. All original characters are products of the author, as is the premise and plot. Copyright infringement is not intended and I make no money from posting this story**.**_


	2. The Brightest Witch of Her Age

The Collarbone's Spell

_"If you look for perfection, you'll never be content."_

_― Leo Tolstoy, Anna Karenina_

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CHAPTER TWO

The Brightest Witch of Her Age

_Two Months Later_

_-Draco-_

RETURNING TO HOGWARTS was odd, to say the least. He'd known it would be difficult, extremely difficult, but he certainly hadn't anticipated the complete social ostracism he was currently experiencing.

At his mother's suggestion, he returned to Hogwarts to complete his N.E.W.T's., an idea he found rather futile, but he hadn't wished to argue with his mother, considering the amount of stress she was undergoing. As the date of Lucius's trial drew nearer, his mother's anxiety worsened considerably, and Draco often found himself wondering how she was fairing, alone and distressed in the cold, dark stone walls of the manor.

Draco shuddered and took in his surroundings. The Black Lake stretched out below him like the night sky, the only movement in the dark water being an occasional ripple. The grounds were barren, as no students dared venture out into the icy winter evening. Draco, however, was willing to sacrifice warmth for solitude, and he leaned back against the tree trunk, sliding his dragon-skin gloved hands into his coat pocket.

Suddenly, a tiny dot appeared in his line of sight, approaching quickly. Draco instantly leapt his feet, instinctively curling his hand around his wand, ignoring the voice in his head that told him it was only a student, nothing more.

_Wait….God, was that Granger?_ Draco made a distasteful noise in spite of himself. It was Granger-he would recognize that bushy mane anywhere. _What the bloody hell was she doing out here? And why in the name of Merlin was she running? _

She jogged nearer, stopping abruptly when she caught sight of him. She was wearing about fifty jumpers, and a bright flush was creeping up her face- whether from the exercise or seeing him, he couldn't be sure. Grey icy eyes met warm brown ones. There was moment of silent exchange, a thousand unspoken words passed between them, broken only by the bitter whistling of the wind in the trees.

A part of Draco-the current Draco-wanted desperately to talk to her, to explain, to beg for forgiveness. Another part of him-the former part of him- wanted to make a snide remark and smirk cruelly. He did neither, and tore himself away from her intense gaze, embarrassed and ashamed.

Hermione turned and began to run towards the lake. He watched her figure as it steadily descended behind a small cliff that separated the shoreline from the grass.

_What was wrong with him? He hated himself for being so weak. For wanting so many different things- he wished to respected, obeyed, feared- but also he craved forgiveness, acceptance, love. Love? Bloody hell, where did come from? Setting aside her heroic efforts in defeating the darkest wizard of all time, this was Granger we're talking about, he reminded himself, insufferable-know-it-all-bushy-haired-book-worm Hermione Granger. Not…well, there weren't any witches Draco was particular interested in, quite frankly. Sure, there was Pansy, and that Greengrass girl, both of whom his mother enjoyed, but the thought of waking up to either of them every morning for the rest of his life? God, what a nightmare. _

Draco's thoughts were interrupted by a shrill scream that pierced the air. Granger. He raced towards the lake, swearing profusely under his breath.

"Stop! Stupe-" Granger was fruitlessly attempting to stupefy the Giant Squid, who was slowly dragging her body across the sand towards the freezing cold lake.

"Relashio!" A jet of water shot from Draco's wand towards the squid, which recoiled as if it was burned, but remained above the surface of the water, its snake-like tentacles reaching out towards Hermione once more, who sat paralyzed on the shore, doe-brown eyes wide with fear. Draco pointed his wand at the squid.

"God, Granger, move!" He glanced behind him at Hermione, who, he learned, was now passed out, her unconscious body motionless and paper-pale. The squid seemed to realize this and turned towards Draco.

"Brilliant. Bloody Brilliant." The squid advanced, and Draco muttered a spell under his breath, relieved as white hot flames burst forth from his wand, sending the squid skittering backwards, tentacles flailing, until his body was submerged in the cold, dark depths of the lake.

Shoving his wand into his pocket, Draco rushed over to Granger, his nimble, narrow fingers searching for a pulse. God, she was pale. Sickly-pale. Her skin was translucent, almost glowing, blue veins visible beneath the paper white flesh. He pushed up the sleeves of her jumpers, turning her wrist over. He inhaled sharply. Red lines ran across her skin like train-tracks. He dared to push the sleeves higher, and soon discovered her whole arm was etched with angry, red scars, like the rungs of the ladder. Without thinking, he started to count them, tracing each one lightly with the tips of his fingers. He stopped at two-dozen.

"God, Granger…" He whispered, his voice a mixture of shock, horror, and an emotion similar to tenderness. Mostly though, as he lifted Hermione's unconscious body, noting the fragility, her lightness, the sheer nothingness of her, as he made his way towards the castle with her in his arms, he was filled with a sense of fear. He couldn't explain it, couldn't put his finger on it, but seeing Hermione Granger, the brightest witch of her age, so weak, so vulnerable, stirred something inside Draco- a sense of fear he hadn't experienced since one night during his sixth year atop the Astronomy Tower.

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**A/N: I'm afraid people are going to think I'm attempting to romanticize eating disorders and self-harm, which is false and not my goal at all. As it is, in fact, something I've struggled with, my intentions are not to glamorize or romanticize it, but rather to simply enlighten others and provide a sense of hope, a distant lighthouse in a storm, if you will, for those who struggle with the issues similar to Hermione's. Thank you!**

_Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. All characters belong to J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros., Bloomsbury, and Scholastic, respectively. All original characters are products of the author, as is the premise and plot. Copyright infringement is not intended and I make no money from posting this story._


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